The Apple and The Tree
by mpsRocket
Summary: Officer Jenny pays a visit to James' parents, hoping for information that might lead to his team's whereabouts.


She'd been expecting somewhere pretty bleak. A block of unkempt council flats, maybe, or a trailer in some shady area- at the very best a regular house in the middle of suburbia.

This place could fit all of the above in its doghouse alone.

It was true that you'd get the odd Rocket from a well-off background. Not all of them joined out of financial desperation or to follow in the footsteps of those they knew. But she'd never seen anything that even came close to this.

Jenny shrugged off her surprise as she continued up the sloping road; now wasn't the time to gawk.

The butler stationed at the gates didn't do anything to help her composure. As she slowed her motorbike next to him, he met her with a subservient but stiff smile.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

She swung her leg over the bike and jumped down. "I'm here to speak to the owners of the… residence," she told him. There was a flinch in the man's demeanour.

"One moment, ma'am," he replied, and with a small nod, moved to press a button on one of the gate's posts. A faint buzz, and he was muttering against the speaker. "A policewoman here to see you, madam. One of those… Yes. Of course, right away, madam."

With the exchange apparently over, he flashed Jenny that same smile once more.

"Apologies for the wait; the owners will see you presently," he said. "Allow me to escort you to the entrance."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Jenny assured him. "I can see it from here- don't trouble yourself."

His smile stretched, a pantomime mask of happiness. "Very good, ma'am."

The gates pulled open to their mechanism, and Jenny stepped through, stealing the odd glance around as she walked towards the mansion. Fresh-cut grass coated the grounds in a sheet of lush green, adorned in turn with lines of shrubs and flowers in perfect symmetry. She thought it odd that, despite all the foliage, there wasn't a single pokemon in sight. Not even a pidgeotto landed to rustle a tree.

Jenny hesitated when she reached the entrance, looking for a doorbell, but cut short in her search as the door was pulled open unprompted. Another butler stood before her (she wouldn't have been surprised if there was one in every toilet to wipe your ass for you), his arms folded neatly behind him.

"If you'd follow me, ma'am," he said, gesturing down the corridor.

"Sure."

There was too much to take in all at once, but what her brain managed to process fit into the aristocratic mold cast by everything else she'd seen. Portraits, fierce and staring, framed in gold. Chandeliers overhead, marble underfoot.

She followed the man into what she presumed was the living room, glancing around for the people she'd come to see but finding nothing but furniture.

"Please, have a seat," the butler encouraged pleasantly. "The owners will be here in but a moment."

With that he left, and she sat alone in the room, perched on the edge of one of the numerous sofas. There was a distinct discomfort in being unaccompanied in someone else's home, even if she was here on police business. This place intimidated her- she felt uneasy, and being left to wait only amplified that. She was reminded of interrogation tactics she herself used back at the station: leave a suspect to twiddle their thumbs in an interview room for a few minutes before actually coming to talk to them. Make them sweat.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, she straightened her back, eyes fixed on the open doorway.

The woman entered first, her porcelain-doll dress sweeping the floor as she walked. Her purple hair was tied in a neat bun atop her head, her features an attractive mixture of sharp and soft.

Barely one step behind her trailed the man, no less of a caricature with his bushy eyebrows and a frankly ridiculous moustache. His navy hair, neatly parted with a few strands twisting down in the middle of his forehead, was just about the only similarity she could draw to the Rocket's mugshot, a face she'd grown all too familiar with.

"Ah, to what do we owe this meetin'?" the woman asked, a thin smile on pursed lips as she crossed to sit opposite Jenny. The man strode behind her, his eyes wide and piercing.

"Could it be you've found our boy at long last?" he inquired. His tone was as hopeful as it was eccentric.

"I'm afraid not," Jenny replied. He frowned and took a seat. "Actually," she continued, "it is about your son- James Kojiro. I was wondering if he'd made contact with you recently, if you know where he might be."

The woman gave a small shake of her head.

"We haven't had so much as a word from him in almost a year," she said. "He's deluded, yah see- doesn't know what's good for him."

"It's that silly little gang," the father growled. "Those delinquents put false ideas in his head."

"Are you referring to Team Rocket?" Jenny asked.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever it's called."

It wasn't an idea that sat well with her, breaking the news to this particular pair, but Jenny pushed her apprehension back with the lump in her throat. She was an officer, a professional, and this was nothing major.

"I'll be blunt with you," she started, meeting both of them with a look that she hoped would help instill the gravity of the situation. "Your son is wanted by law enforcement across multiple regions on numerous felonies."

There were numerous reactions she'd been preparing herself for, but the one she got was not among them.

Laughter.

"Oh, you must be mistaken," the woman giggled, her hand covering her mouth in a show of etiquette. "Our James is far too timid for such a thing!"

"He's just on a little rebellious streak, that's all," her husband added.

Jenny didn't respond. Instead, she pulled the papers from her messenger bag and set them on the coffee table. She picked up the first one and pushed it towards them.

It was a grainy surveillance photo, picturing a young man in Team Rocket uniform crouching at a panel by a door.

"He was identified on camera as part of a team that infiltrated a government building," Jenny explained as they stared at the image wordlessly. "A large quantity of technological equipment was then stolen." She handed them a couple more photos similar to the first one, showing the same man in different areas.

"Well, this doesn't prove a thing," the woman commented, still staring at the photos with a look of faint disgust. "This could be just about anyone, don't you think, dear?"

The man murmured his agreement.

"Of course- it looks nothing like him," he stated with confidence.

Jenny was already in the process of showing them the next piece of information she had- James' criminal record. It was remarkably long, extensive enough to take up multiple pages.

"These are all the crimes that have been proven beyond a reasonable doubt to be linked to your son," she said, "and there are numerous other pending charges."

She thought that would do the job- relatives usually crumbled at hard evidence, the undeniable documentation of offences displayed in bold ink. But again, she came up short.

"Oh, most of these are barely worth reporting!" the man exclaimed. "It's hardly worth such a fuss over a few misdemeanours-"

"He _hijacked a train station,"_ Jenny cut in sharply, no longer willing to suppress her frustration at their lack of any concern. "Forgive my candour, but I don't think you realise just how serious this is. Unova law enforcement currently places James Kojiro and his partner at the top of their wanted list."

"That's ridiculous!" the woman snapped. Her smile had long vanished, the beginnings of a scowl in its place. "And what's the meanin' of all this slander? Do the police have nothin' better to do than try to upset the parents of a missin' person?"

"Ma'am, I assure you it's not my intention to upset you," Jenny said, taking a short breath in. "I just want to make sure you're aware of the extent of the situation. If you're withholding information about your son to try and protect him, you're not going to be doing him any favours, as well as putting the public at risk. It'll go much better for him in a courtroom if he turns himself in-"

"Now that's enough!" The man was shouting now, his face flushed almost beetroot. "I'll hear no more of this- this _nonsense!_ Just who do you think you are, throwing such outrageous accusations our way in our own house?!"

"Sir-"

"You should be tryin' to bring him home!" his wife continued. She blinked back tears that weren't there. "Do you know how awful it is to have your child missin'?"

When there was finally opportunity to, Jenny spoke again.

"I'm sure that must be extremely difficult," she agreed gently. "I'm sorry if anything I said offended you. All I want is to ascertain if there's anything you know that could help me to-"

The man stood up abruptly. "We've already told you: we haven't heard a thing from him. Everything we know, you've heard." He then cleared his throat and straightened his suit jacket before giving the command: "Please escort our guest to the exit."

A member of staff that Jenny didn't know had been hovering just outside the door swiftly made his way inside, stopping at her side with an expectant nod of his head.

Resigned, she gathered up the papers and tucked them back in her bag before pushing herself to her feet.

"I appreciate your time," she said in the most pleasant tone she could muster. She fished a card with the station's details from her pocket, and offered it to the man, who took it with reluctance more suited to a bomb than a slip of paper. "If there's anything further you recall, please don't hesitate to contact us."

* * *

Of course, the whole thing was utterly ridiculous.

Once that irksome policewoman was off the property, James' mother had wandered back into the drawing room, her thoughts unusually occupied by a son that usually remained a mere concept in her mind.

It was obvious that the officer had been grossly misinformed. Anyone who'd taken so much as a glance at the photos of the sweet little boy clutching his growlithe could tell you that. His slight smile framed by silky locks of violet was the picture of utter innocence.

He belonged here. He belonged with them, away from the unfortunate mess that made up the majority of society. He belonged at the side of his fiancee, a woman so perfect he should wish more than anything to be graced with her presence.

Stopping at the arching window that cast a projection of sunlight into the room, she gazed outside, eyes mirroring trees and sky and window frame.

There was a lot that was wrong. He was not here. His thoughts were twisted. But all that would change, and she knew it in the very pit of her being. James would come to see the errors of his ways, one way or another. He would return, and he would grovel, and they would forgive him and never let him go again. And he would be made better.

She released the air in her lungs and smiled.


End file.
